Something In Her Eyes
Something in her eyes. A glistening – a twirling, radiating shadow.
It captures my attention. I lean in. Her breathing quickens, rapid little heaves as my face closes on hers. The closeness is an intimacy; it forges a bond that words can’t describe as I study her twinkling brown irises. They mystify me, consume me. The way the light hits them, the reflections from them. I see myself.
Also, I see that strange iridescence, that shimmering glow in their depths that made me get so close in the first place. This is what I’ve been looking for. This is what I’ve been chasing my whole life.
“You’ve definitely got the condition, Mrs. Newman. Talk to my nurse, and she’ll enroll you in the study.”
As I leave, I stop and turn. “I’m glad you came. What we learn from your eyes will be invaluable in our research.”
She smiles back. “Thanks so much, Doctor.”
I love misdirection. Some of the best writers (especially thrillers and mystery writers) will lead you someplace in their writing, making you think something is absolutely that thing, when it turns out at the end, it was something else entirely. Sitcoms work on the same premise.
Here’s a short piece that occurred to me for no reason at all.
Did the misdirection work? And was the payoff worth the effort of your reading?
Let me know, along with any criticsm, in the comments.